A taper illumines the head of the man bowed over the table, scribbling and smiling as ever, claiming that smoke descended, through his...

The lights cut out as dusk fell on rehearsal in the handsome room in the northern capital city. The king paused in his rant and we waited...

for Jean-Paul Sartre Exits are entrances - so actors tell - To a space which they create To make the watchers feel The unseen is just as...

Stand by! The countdown has begun. The cameras roll; I hold the floor, Balance my cocktail, block the pain, At my best time, for the last time, Thinking about God – not the old sod, Cruelty’s first cause, who dwells Within or beyond us, but what compels A man or woman to create and give. Life quickens as it dwindles, Grows in the blossoming whiteness Of a plum tree near my window, Sown in the accidental land, Heart-shaped between rivers, In sight of remembered hills. What mak